


So Far Away

by firbolging



Series: You Talk a Good Game [4]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pining, letter writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28592772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firbolging/pseuds/firbolging
Summary: “Oh,” she breathed.“One of your friends?”“Yeah,” said Jester, grinning widely. “Caleb.”Once she was in her room, she ripped the letter open immediately.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast
Series: You Talk a Good Game [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095134
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	So Far Away

Though the break was a welcome one, she missed each and every single one of them dearly. Every day. Every hour. The threads of her friends pulled and twisted into an enormous quilt. It was a comfort as much as it was a weight, just like her mother’s fingers threading through her blue hair. Still, all too soon she would be back with her friends and away from her mother. With a contended sigh, she burrowed her head further into Marion’s lap and fell into a thick cloud sleep.

The passage of time condensed and stretched until it became beyond comprehension. Solid objects melted in the warmth of her satisfaction, and it was only when she heard her mother call to her from across the room that she realised just how much of the world had turned with a fluttering of her eyelids.

“Jester,” cooed Marion once more.

Jester blinked away the yellow brightness of the parlour. The sun had weakened its glow, leaving Nicodranas stuck between lighting the lamps and surviving on what blue sky remained above.

“Hi, Mama,” said Jester, stretching and noting a twinge of a crick in her neck. “What’s up?”

“There’s a letter here.”

Jester shot upright, crick be damned. “For me?”

“Yes, for you!”

Jester leapt from the chaise lounge and bound, barefoot hitting fine carpet. The envelope was thin and crisp, almost professional, and her heart sank with the assumption that it was some kind of generic admin. But then she saw, “The Little Sapphire,” scrawled in Caleb’s familiar hand.

“Oh,” she breathed.

“One of your friends?”

“Yeah,” said Jester, grinning widely. “Caleb.”

Once she was in her room, she ripped the letter open immediately.

“Jester,” it began. “I hope I am not in any way intruding, but I must admit that I am a little lost without you all around me.” If she squinted, it was almost as if he’d squeezed the word ‘all’ in afterwards. In case, she supposed, she accidentally interpreted this as favouritism. “Beau has been in training and I have exhausted the Soul’s resources, as far as my interests lie. My old friends likely have a tight lock on the best stuff. As well as the worst. I do not know why I am telling you this, but, as I said, Beau has not been around very often and Frumpkin has grown tired of my rambling. I have gotten far too used to being in good company.”

He spoke for some time about his initial excitement and his fast disappointment, he spoke of the kindness the monks showed towards cats, and the distrust they still showed him whenever he brought up teleportation. There was a bitterness to his tone that made her giggle, when he described his disagreements with them. Of how the more help they offered him to establish his own personal circles then the less likely he was to lead horses through their basements.

Then, all too soon, came the final page, “I have to say that I am missing your particular brand of chaos. The library has been far too peaceful. Give my best to your Mother, though I doubt that will mean much. I do not need to tell you to be watchful for those old friends of mine, but it soothes my worries just a little to write it out. It’s more of a reminder, for me, of how well you would handle such a thing. Still, do not forget to call me to Nicodranas at the first sign of trouble. Yours, Caleb.”

A sharp jolt shot through her chest at the letter’s end, missing Caleb harder than she had before reading. She had been so busy feeling the weight of the whole quilt that she hadn’t taken the time to analyse any particular square. All of Caleb’s stitches unravelled just to wrap themselves around her ankles, to trip up her peaceful state of mind. Browns and oranges and purples in a pool at her feet.

He could have been there with her. Any of them could have been, but Caleb had been the only one without any real place to go to. Beau was with the Cobalt Soul, Yasha was at the Storm Lord’s Temple across the sea, Nott was between Yeza and Yussah, Caduceus between Fjord and the Wildmother, and Fjord somewhere between Port Damali and the Bisaft Isle, using the ocean to steady his legs. Caleb had been welcomed by each and every one of them, but it was only Beau’s offer he showed any interest in. With Caleb, libraries were bound to beat her company. And yet, here was a sign, however small, that a part of him had considered the Lavish Chateau. A part of him had considered Jester.

Perhaps, without the pressure of eye contact and with time to think, he was able to bare his heart through words. Almost like a love letter. That’s what she’d say if he was there. Tongue between her teeth, stone-faced and waiting for him to break. To blush. She could almost see him there before her, like a smudge in the air. Without even thinking, she brought the parchment to her nose. It smelt like his hands, like ink and embers. Then, realising what she was doing, she dropped the letter on the bed, letting out an uneven laugh as she did so. Silly, really. She was glad he wasn’t there to see her.

She wasn’t entirely acquainted with letter-keeping. There had been letters, before, from her mother on the road, and a letter for Calianna, meant for them all. It had never been just her and a letter, alone in this bedroom. Her mother kept letters from her father, she knew, in an ornate box beneath her bed. Plenty of other men had written to her, written of her, but once business had concluded they became scrap parchment for the fire. Jester searched her room for a box big enough for letters, and beautiful enough to be special. After a while, she settled on one of her many jewellery boxes, emptying out the clunky rings and bracelets of her childhood and replacing them with Caleb’s letter. After all, it was a kind of love letter, was it not?

She’d asked her mother once, “What sort of stuff goes in love letters?”

“Well, it depends,” she’d replied. “Sometimes they’re barely a note, just a reminder of their affections. Other times there are tens of pages of their hearts pouring out. Sometimes they’re dull, mindless things. But, when you miss someone, the only remedy sweeter than a reunion is telling them about your day. Or hearing about theirs.”

Jester grew hot at the memory. It was as if there were eyes upon her, judging her, pitying her. Sitting there alone, she felt shamed by her own continued silliness. She wondered if the others had kept their letters from Caleb. She tried not to wince at how badly she hoped hers was the longest.


End file.
